Coffee Talk
by LaDanaid
Summary: HouseCameron How their relationship has evolved over coffee... A short piece.


**Coffee Talk**

It started with coffee. It always started with coffee between them. First it was in the office, when she assumed the duty of making the-morning-coffee ritual. They quickly learned how the other took their coffee: he black, two sugars, she half-n-half, no sugar, though some days with a drop of sugar depending on her mood.

Their physical contact was over coffee -- brief touches, fingers grazing each other as they handed coffee cups to each other -- she usually to him, but later on (much later), he to her.

Time, too much time passed. Alone each sat; their coffee mugs their cooling companions. At different times, one or the other took the dare, making for initial uncomfortable and awkward company, but they tried. Slowly. They moved at a snails pace, and because of events and the exchange of hot barbs, these initial exchanges had to happen more then once for comfort or any actions to occur, even though it was felt under their common exteriors. But that changed…

…In time. They sat across the conference room table in defensive positions with armor and steaming mugs prepared to harm each other, but that's not what happened. They took their minor scrapes and bruises and went home. Alone. But not broken.

More time.

Time moved them to tables in the cafeteria with Styrofoam cups, powdered creamer and sugar packets. In the spring, they moved outdoors to the patio, later taking a walk to a better café down the street where they could order pricey lattes and cappuccinos, though most of the time it was the standard coffee, black two sugars, half-n-half, no sugar. They grew around coffee, they talked around coffee, letters swirling like the cream in her cup, words and thoughts and _feelings_ settling slowly in his stomach like the sugar at the bottom of his mug when he forgot to stir it.

They moved on to Irish coffee after work, good whiskey poured into clear glass, this time he asked for the cream. She liked to ask for the whip cream on top. Watching her, he realized he wanted to drip the whip cream on her and slowly lick it off her pale skin. He teased her with words, tongue twisters to tie up her brain (and her heart) in a tizzy. One night after too many Irish coffees, he leaned in and kissed her. Their kiss was soft and wet, tender and emotional. She tasted like coffee and mints. He took her hand in his, took a deep breath, and brought her home with him, even though he knew she wasn't lost or in need of anything, but he was.

Every morning after, they shared intimate morning coffee, he often trying to awake to brew a pot and bring it to her bedside; he never thought that he would be that considerate. He bought an espresso machine and learned to froth the milk, making her favorite lattes for special nights, especially if she had cooked him dinner.

Life is changing, he is changing. She hasn't asked him to, but he is, and he isn't minding it, it is just small little ways between the two of them, and he's okay with that. He reflects on this as he rinses out coffee cups in the kitchen sink, thinking how it all started with coffee, and how he loves to talk to her, inquire into her mind as they talk, enjoying the look in her eyes – the look they never discuss, the one that speaks of love and want and trust and hope, the one that scares him. He chuckles lightly to himself as the water falls warmly over his hands, because he feels an inward blush come over him as he recalls the memory of her eyes looking at him intently across the table at dinner, he wanting to jump over the table and attack her mouth.

It's Saturday, a cool early fall morning, bright and clear. The sun is creeping through the crack in the curtains, irritating his eyes. Regardless, he's having trouble sleeping because of the ache in his leg. He rolls to side, grabs a pill from the vial off his bedside table, waits a few minutes after he crunches it down before grabbing a pair of sweatpants off the floor and pulling them over his long legs. In bare feet, he makes his way to the kitchen, yawning, and sleepy-eyed. He slides the coffee maker across the counter closer to him, opens the cabinet for a clean filter, and goes to the fridge for the coffee tin. He grabs the can; it feels too light. He opens it, and sighs, there's barely enough for a pot in there. He scans the fridge for their gourmet beans thinking he can grind some fresh, he doesn't see any. Shuts the door, and hobbles back into the bedroom.

Cameron is still sleeping. Hair across the pillow, curled on one side. She's been so tired lately, he's a little worried, though feigns otherwise. He slides across the bed and rubs her shoulder and kisses her gently on the neck. She always wakes so easily and happy, not like him. Her eyes flutter open and a smile appears on her face. "Hi," she says quietly, rolling over toward him, snuggling up against his chest, with happy little grunts.

He loves the way she wakes up, warm and cuddly. He pretends he doesn't like it, but he loves it. He puts an arm across her and slowly rubs her back, and plants kisses up her cheek to her hairline, which draws a fresh smile.

"We're out of coffee."

"Again?"

"Yup." He clicks his tongue. "So, I'm going to go to the bakery to get some coffee and bagels."

He pulls away and starts putting on socks and a sweatshirt, she rolls over and stretches. "Okay."

"Do you want the usual?" He's slipping his sneakers on.

"Hmm, yeah."

He watches her snuggle in the covers again, knowing she'll nap until he gets back.

"I'll be back soon."

"Okay," she says in a drowsy tone.

He grabs his keys and is at the door when he hears her call out. He limps back to the bedroom door where she is partially inclined.

"Greg?"

"Yeaahh?"

"You better make mine decaf." Her face looks afraid.

He says nothing at first, his mind processing her words into a realization. His hand on the doorframe, watching her – her face unsure and fearful, her hand clenched tightly around the sheet. "Decaf. You sure?"

"Yes." She says clearly and assuredly, her answer a mixture of meanings to him.

"Okay." He nods, accepting her answer with no questions (he's not sure why). "I'll be back."

He realizes all change with them starts with coffee. And this will be their new change. And they will sit and talk about this over tables and on the couch for hours. His stomach is flopping around right now and his heart is beating fast. He doesn't think this is a bad thing. (He thinks, but he's not sure _yet_.) Decaf it is. Maybe he should go that route too, you know? To support 'the team'? Well, maybe half decaf to start out. This is going to be a big change.

end


End file.
